Reset
by Shame I Win
Summary: Thoroughly sick of being set up with her ex's friends, Elsa takes control of her own love life. Or tries to anyways. Elsanna. Two-shot. No incest. Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

Elsa really hates being set up by her friends. She doesn't know how they even manage it (apparently they've got all the local single lesbians on speed dial) but she wishes they would stop. Seriously, it's not like she can't find her own date.

"It'll be great," her cousin Rapunzel insists cheerfully.

"What've you got to lose?" Megara chimes in.

"You need to get laid," Eugene adds from his position slouched across his girlfriend's couch.

"That's what you said last time. My dignity. And no, I don't." Elsa considers her response definitive and clear. Evidently, it wasn't nearly severe enough.

"God, Elsa, you're so uptight," Meg sighs, lolling her head back.

It takes everything she has not to flinch at that.

"Come on, Els," Rapunzel whines. "We already told her to be there. It'd be rude to stand her up."

"So un-tell her to be there."

"Or you could just go to the darn thing, Frosty," Meg suggests irritably. Elsa glares, but Meg brushes it off with a single, undulating eye roll. The girl can brush anything off with that damn eye roll. "God, we're not asking you to marry her."

* * *

"Hello, are you Elsa?"

Elsa's first impression of her blind date is that she's tall—not six feet, but definitely pushing it.

"Um. Yes, I'm Elsa. It's a pleasure to meet you." A necessary and not particularly painful lie.

"You as well." The woman smiles white teeth against chocolate skin. "I've heard so much about you."

"I wish I could say the same. My friends decided to surprise me with the news that this date was happening an hour ago." Immediately the little voice in Elsa's head that monitors her performance during these sorts of unfortunate interactions tells her to shut up. Two minutes in and she's made date feel unwelcome and herself look like a cantankerous grouch.

But the woman—Esmeralda, that's her name—simply laughs as she takes a seat. Her dark eyes bore into Elsa's. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. There's something too knowing about those eyes. "That sounds like something Meg would do. Always pushing you out of your comfort zone."

Elsa stiffens. "Oh, you know Meg?"

"Of course. We're friends from the dance studio."

"Lovely." A waiter comes that moment. Esmeralda politely waves off any drinks. Even as the voice in her head orders her to leave the statement be, to not dig herself into a pothole of misery, Elsa finds her mouth opening to ask, "So she's been talking about me?"

"Oh, just here and there. Not too much, don't worry. It's all good stuff. And she has that nickname for you too. Frosty, right?"

Elsa has to give Meg some credit. Frosty perfectly describes her brittle, painful smile in that moment.

* * *

"I can't believe you set me up with one of Megara's friends!" Elsa hisses at her cousin, acutely aware that Meg is in the next room over, watching Seinfeld reruns.

Rapunzel fails to grasp the severity of the situation, rolling her eyes as she dumps a bag of popcorn out into a plastic bowl. "What? Do you think I have a phone book for all the area lesbians?"

Elsa reins herself in before she can reply in the affirmative.

"Geez," her cousin continues. "How many gay friends do you think I have?

"Well, just stop setting me up with people. Okay? I don't have the energy to deal with this now."

"Oh come on, Elsa. Esmeralda's a really nice person."

Guilt sinks into Elsa's chest. Grimly, she rips it out and tosses it across the room. She can repent for being the world's worst dining companion later. "I don't care how nice they are," she snaps. "Stop sending me to restaurants to meet people. Especially Meg's friends."

"What's wrong with Meg's friends?"

Elsa flintily regards her flippant cousin. "I don't particularly want to date my ex's friends. Is that too much to ask?"

Rapunzel shrugs. "Why not? Meg's not going to get jealous. Not really. You know she's the one who's been finding all these people—"

"_She's_ the one that's been setting me up?"

An inkling of Elsa's outrage must finally have penetrated Rapunzel's cloak of protective obliviousness, because a hint of earnestness enters her cousin's voice. "Yes. She has. She cares about you. She _worries_ about you. We've all been worried about you, ever since, you know, the two of you…"

"Broke up?"

Hesitantly, Rapunzel nods. "You've been kind of moody ever since."

Part of Elsa wants to rip her hair out. She's living in the same apartment as her sultry, smirking, infuriating ex-girlfriend. She can't get a glass water without being slapped in the face with her insecurities. How the heck is she supposed to behave?

"We were all friends, Elsa. We can be friends again."

_I don't want to be friends_ Elsa whines petulantly to herself. _I want to get as far away from her as possible._

"And don't give me that look. I refuse to feel guilty for liking her," Rapunzel states unequivocally. "We knew each other way before you two started dating. She's still one of my best friends."

_But we were cousins from the moment you were born. Doesn't that count for something?_

Elsa hates being this whiny, needy leech. The break-up wasn't Meg's fault. Not fully. She can't accuse Meg of cheating or abusing her or being morally reprehensible in any substantial way. This is just what she deserves for dating her roommate and her cousin's friend: eternal discomfort.

As if reading Elsa's thoughts, Meg chooses that moment to waltz into the kitchen and ask, "What's taking so long, Blondie?" as though she isn't the subject of a furtive almost-argument.

_Be nice, _orders Rapunzel's hazel-eyed stare.

"So, Elsa, how was the date? I know Esmeralda can _bend_ every—"

"It was fine," she grinds out stiffly, slinking from the kitchen into her room.

_What you really need to do_, the voice in her head lectures, _is move out._

But Elsa's too proud for that. Too proud to let Meg know just how much living under the same roof is killing her. And Elsa's too scared for that. Too scared that she'll discover how expendable she really is.

* * *

It's stupid, because Elsa _knows_ she's not totally hopeless. She's pretty and polite. So what if she's not a great socializer? Before Meg, she'd had her fair share of girlfriends. Though in comparison, she supposes those early relationships were a bit colorless. After two years of dating, she'd barely noticed a difference when Aurora moved across the country to pursue an acting career. In retrospect the entire thing had probably been a waste. She hadn't really known Aurora at all. Starting a relationship with her had been like switching cereal brands. But it had been okay while it lasted, and when it ended, she'd shrugged off condolences from her friends with a simple, "It's not so bad."

Maybe that's what Elsa needs again, something banal and safe until she gets her feet and sense of self under her again. Someone who sleeps a lot and doesn't say much. Like a hedgehog.

Yeah, Elsa's pretty much done with romantic relationships for the moment.

Maybe she just needs a friend.

* * *

That's when she finds herself accidentally-on-purpose running into Belle at the library.

"Is that you, Elsa? I haven't seen you in forever."

Elsa kind of sucks at keeping in touch with people, but Belle is kind and sweet. She lets Elsa ramble through some sort of excuse about being busy for the past…year. She likes books and quiet evenings and Gothic architecture, and it sort of feels like they'd be perfect together.

Then, she mentions that she and Adam are finally engaged, and yes, they're a little young, but not _that_ young, and it's really almost magical, and they'll be sure to send a wedding invitation once they settle on a date. And Elsa remembers why they wouldn't be perfect together.

Even so, it's invigorating to talk to anybody who isn't besties with the resident Aphrodite of the Lesbos (yeah, Elsa's going to leave the nicknames up to Meg from now on). They agree to get together for lunch or something. For the first time in forever, Elsa feels confident and at ease.

The best part is when Belle, trying to suppress an outburst of laughter, tells her she's hilarious.

* * *

"No."

"So…you'll go?" Rapunzel confirms hopefully.

"No!" God, sometimes it feels like Elsa is trapped in an unending elementary school Opposite Day.

"Well, you can't sit around the apartment by yourself all night."

Elsa blinks. "Of course I can. Why wouldn't I be able to sit around?"

"It's the principal of the matter," Rapunzel insists.

"Just get in the car, Frosty. It's a party. You'll love it." Meg sweeps out of her room in a long red dress.

Elsa's entire body tenses. "It's a party. I'll hate it. I'd rather just stay home."

"You love parties," Meg declares like it's a law of nature.

"I don't like parties."

Meg rolls her stupid, come-hither, well-don't-you-look-delicious eyes. "You liked going to them with me."

Even Rapunzel stops making noises.

_I wanted you to think I was fun. _

"I. Don't. Like. Parties." For once, Elsa's word is final.

* * *

At first, it was exhilarating.

Meg was enthralling and sinuous. Just dangerous enough to keep Elsa on her toes.

As a friend, Meg had been reasonably considerate—in her own scathing way. As a lover, she had an intuitive grasp of all Elsa's sensitive spots, mental or otherwise, and never seemed to be able to stop herself from prodding at them. And yeah, it was hot.

Rapunzel came up with a million and one reasons to drag them out together. Looking back, she was probably setting them up. And well, it was working.

Elsa found herself attending more social events than she ever had on the promise that Meg would grace the room. God, she was mesmerizing with that sly smile, like she knew all the things Elsa didn't want to admit to herself. At the time though, Elsa had been dating paper-doll Aurora, and no matter how…tempting Meg was, Elsa wasn't a cheater.

But Christ, she'd blushed every time Meg ran her eyes over her dress and smirked, "Aren't _you_ just enchanting?"

Of course it was flattering. Elsa knew she was pretty, especially when she dressed up and put on some makeup, but her personality wasn't exactly magnetic. The thought that someone as…liberated as Meg seemed to be was at all interested in her made Elsa's heart pound.

After college, Aurora took off, and Meg moved in with Elsa and Rapunzel.

"Will you two just start bumping uglies already?" complained Flynn as soon as he heard the living arrangements. Elsa threw a shoe at him, but turned bright red when she noticed Meg staring at her from the side of the room, a wicked curl twisting her lips.

"You're so hot when you're mad," she whispered into the shell of Elsa's ear.

It really hadn't taken much after that.

* * *

THUMP!

Elsa jerks awake to the sound of the apartment door slamming shut. Muffled giggles echo from the entryway, as her roommates announce their arrival home in a flurry of footfalls.

"Shh! Elsa's probably sleeping!" Rapunzel scolds.

"Already? On a Saturday night. Geez, Frosty needs a life."

Elsa glances at the clock beside her bed. 11:08. It's not _that_ early. It's nearly midnight.

"Hush. You know she hates when you call her that."

"No. She lo-oves it." The extra oomph on the word "love" is the only sign that Meg might be a little drunk. "Anyways, welcome to the palace," she says to someone Elsa can't see.

Did they bring guests? Elsa groans to herself and considers the pros and cons of getting up and locking the bedroom door. The creak of the bed might alert them to her wakefulness, and chances are they'll stay in the living room anyways.

"Thanks for having us," an unfamiliar voice replies, male, clean cut, earnest.

"Yeah, really. We don't want to intrude," another voice adds, female this time. "Especially if you're roommate is sleeping. We really aren't even that big on the whole party thing."

"Ah, don't worry about it!" Is that Flynn? "Our house is your house." Sometimes Elsa wonders how Rapunzel puts up with him, but she swears he's got a tender side.

"This isn't even your house, Flynn," Meg points out drily. For once Elsa applauds her commentary.

"But seriously, don't worry about it," Rapunzel interrupts. "Hans can be such an asshole sometimes."

"Don't we know it," the guy says.

"And Frosty doesn't have work tomorrow so she can suck it up like a big girl," Meg adds.

In her bed Elsa bristles. Any camaraderie she may have felt a few moments before dissipates. She's sick to death of Meg acting like she knows what Elsa wants better than Elsa herself. Would it kill her to have a little consideration?

"Now can I get you something to drink?" Meg asks, every word squeezes past her lips, lubricated with seduction. Elsa imagines her leaning over some faceless, nameless girl on the couch, hips and lips jutting out just so. She remembers _being_ that girl, trapped between the cushions and Meg's body and loving it.

To her shock, what reverberates through the room next is a bolt of laughter, not bell-like or charming, but a frank, unrestrained guffaw at Meg's expense. "Sure. If you promise not to make that face again," the unknown girl says after she re-gains control of her spasming throat.

Elsa can _feel_ Meg's feel lapse into a lethal pout. It makes her skin crawl.

"What look?" she asks in a low rumble.

But for whatever reason it seems to bounce off of her mystery guest. "That one. It kind of reminds me of a cartoon reindeer."

"Anna," the mystery male voice admonishes.

"Oh! Not that you're a reindeer! Or anything. You're really pretty." At that, Elsa pictures the molasses smile spreading across Meg's face. "But I'm not really looking for anything right now. Can we just be friends?"

Disbelief. Probably pooling in Meg's eyes. It's already slapped all over Elsa's face.

"O-oh. Burn!" Flynn calls from what sounds like the kitchen.

"Shut up, Flynn." A breathy sigh. "I suppose. Buy you're missing out."

"I'm sure it'll be to someone else's enormous advantage," the girl—Anna, was it?—offers diplomatically.

"Can you stop hitting on my sister while I'm in the room now?" complains the guy.

"Doubtful," Meg informs him promptly.

* * *

Elsa pads out of her room bright and early on Sunday morning into a war zone. Bodies are sprawled across the living room furniture like corpses. Rapunzel's long, knee-length hair has her boyfriend in a stranglehold. An unfamiliar blond man is conked out on the armchair, looking for all the world like a sack of hay. On the sofa, Meg lies with her arms around the legs of a strange girl—Anna, her memory supplies wearily—with reddish hair mostly hidden under a square pillow.

"God, it looks like you people had the world's least pleasurable five-some," she finds herself muttering.

An unexpected snort erupts from behind the couch pillow. Elsa leaps about three feet into the air.

"Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you," the redhead husks, removing the pillow from her face. For someone who spent the night on a sofa, she doesn't look half bad. A pair of pigtails has kept her burnished hair more or less in place. "I was trying to work up the energy to get up and introduce myself, and that was just really funny."

"Um, yes, good morning," Elsa manages as her good manners kick in.

"Better morning for me than the rest of these guys," the stranger remarks, slowly disentangling herself from Meg's grasp. "But yeah, good morning to you too." She flashes a smile so sunny Elsa swears she sees gold in it. "I'm Anna, and you're either Elsa or an intruder."

Watching Meg fumble for something else to cuddle with, Elsa kind of feels like both. "Yes, I'm Elsa." Does her voice normally sound that croaky? It _is_ sort of early in the morning.

Anna bends down and places the pillow in Meg's arms, letting the sleeping girl latch onto it. "Nice meet you," she says straightening.

"You too," Elsa echoes like a drone. The voice in her head kicks her a few times. Metaphorically speaking. "Can I get you anything?"

"Any chance you could point me towards a bathroom?"

Elsa gestures with her chin and the girl disappears behind the door, but not before giving her another blinding smile. For some reason, Elsa finds herself calling out that there's an extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet if she wants to use it.

* * *

"Look, Elsa, I know when we ended things, it was on a bad note. But I'm really trying here." Elsa is startled out of her deliberate inattention by the rare note of sincerity in Megara's voice. She sets the stack of plates on the counter and turns to face her. "I want us to get along," Meg implores softly. "It hurts that you won't look at me, but I sort of get it, alright? What do you need from me?"

Elsa knows exactly what she needs, what they both need, but she still feels so darn _guilty_ when she asks for space.

* * *

Falling in love with Aurora had been less of a descent and more of a bilateral agreement, decided upon after a year of dating. Surely if they were together at all, after so many months, it must be love.

With Meg, love was like careening downhill, descending faster than her legs could keep up with until she was somersaulting into a disheveled pile of emotions and desires.

They were complementary; they had chemistry; and they were in love.

And Elsa had been deluded enough to think it could work.

The first months were blaze of intoxicated enthusiasm on both sides. Meg lavished her with invitations and concert tickets. She seemed determined to show her new girlfriend off to her extensive circle of friends and acquaintances in the space of a few weeks. They spent weekends holed up in one of their rooms in a tangle of limbs and bliss.

Until she started dating Meg, Elsa didn't really think sex could be something one was good at. Meg corrected that assumption almost immediately. And if she were hesitant, to say, thread handcuffs through the bedpost, all it took was a sultry pout and a don't-be-a-killjoy-Frosty to melt the rigidity in her limbs.

For a long time, the relationship had felt soaring down the side of the mountain. Liberating and blinding.

* * *

"We're going to meet some friends, Elsa. You wanna tag along?"

Tagging along is the story of Elsa's life. She's never quite fit into the get-together gang. Sometimes she wonders how she became friends with Meg at all. The answer, of course, is watching her, waiting for a response as she attaches an earring to her earlobe.

"I think I'll stay home, Rapunzel."

"Okay." Without further comment, her cousin turns away and shouts, "Hey, Meg! Are you ready yet?! We're going to be late."

"Better than being on time!" is the unfazed reply.

"I thought you were trying to impress Anna," Rapunzel calls back.

Meg emerges from her room, twirling until her purple dress swishes around her thighs. "Yeah, impress her with _this_," she clarifies, gesturing to her body, "not my punctuality."

"So you're ready?" Rapunzel demands.

"Ye—nope. Forgot my earrings." Skirt whooshing majestically behind her, Meg disappears back into the cavern of her room.

"Anna…" Elsa lets the name hang uncertainly in the air a few moments, as if the image isn't already perfectly clear in her head. "Isn't that the girl who was here last week?"

"Yep. We met her and her brother Kristoff at Hans's party. And well, you know how Hans can be."

Elsa has no idea how Hans can be, but she nods anyways.

"How do I look?" Meg struts back into the room and strikes a pose.

"Like an idiot," Rapunzel answers pointedly. "Let's go already."

"A hot idiot."

"Like that's any better."

As the pair cross the threshold, Elsa blurts out, "You look nice."

The smile she receives in return is stunningly genuine. For once, she finds herself wishing that they'd been a little more insistent she join them.

* * *

She meets Belle and Adam for lunch at a café.

He pulls out a seat for her. She helps him spear a piece of pasta with his fork.

Elsa worries for them. They seem so alarmingly happy together. What happens five years from now? Ten years from now? Will it all still be okay? Will Adam's unpolished manners, which have brought an indulgent smile to Belle's face since their college years, eventually grate on her nerves when, at yet another dinner, he boorishly rips chunks of steak apart with his teeth?

Does it ever last?

* * *

The first months elapsed. Then they crashed.

No, crashed would have been too sudden a word to describe the sensation, even though it captured perfectly the brutality of waking up those final mornings next to someone they'd come to hate.

For Elsa it hadn't been a collision so much as a depletion. After rushing down into the valley for months, she began to feel tired. Little aches and pains became unbearable. The thorn bushes she'd leapt over so energetically in the early stages of their relationships snagged at her clothes and tore at her skin. She wanted to stop and rest and sleep, but Meg seemed indefatigable. Elsa was exhausted.

Meg's thrill-seeking stopped being exciting. It seemed ridiculous and irresponsible. Elsa didn't want to go out every weekend. In the beginning, she'd been willing to accept Meg's lifestyle simply as the expression of a more carefree personality, but after a while she began to wonder if it would kill her to spend a little more time at home. Or show up on time. Or at least not antagonize Elsa's parents.

Her up and down music "career" suddenly struck Elsa as a pretext to attend as many parties as possible. Though she throve in the limelight, Meg seemed to lack the ambition to actually make anything out of it.

And she didn't appreciate the growing vein of condemnation in Elsa's questions.

"So where's this party at?"

And, "What's your plan after?"

And, "Do you really think that's good for your image?"

Meg had shaken her head and stared at her in disbelief. "What do you mean my _image_? Who do you think I am? Taylor Swift?"

By the same token, Elsa's social restraint and careful temperament, once tolerated as quirkiness, started to drive Meg crazy.

"Come out with me tonight?" she'd ask.

"I think I'll stay in."

"You always stay in. I want to spend time with you."

"So stay with me."

"We're always at home. Why would we stay home?"

"I like it here."

When she did go out and subject herself to the kaleidoscope of Meg's "bandmates", it always felt being dumped in a cage match. Or an FBI interrogation. Or a noisy, epilepsy-inducing club with a bunch of mid-functioning alcoholics living off each other's trust funds.

Perhaps she resented them a little excessively.

Though they never said it to her face, she was pretty sure they didn't like her all that much either. Randy especially had a way of being repulsively polite while suggesting that she should take a hit of whatever he was offering to help her "loosen up." All he managed to do was make her very determined to wind herself up tighter. Phil, a former talent scout, reliving his glory days by shoving his way into a younger crowd, was downright lecherous. Even the nicest of them, mezzosoprano Ariel, couldn't seem to help implying that Elsa was a corporate sellout with every other sentence.

So Elsa was done.

But then she wasn't done, because Meg was still there, still shockingly pretty, still heart-wrenchingly vulnerable with those lavender eyes. And Elsa was vulnerable too. Other than her parents, she'd never been so exposed to another person before. Meg had smashed through her walls with a sledgehammer, had seen Elsa naked, had watched her nerves fray and her insecurities surface. Elsa had let herself be dragged into so many things she never thought she'd do in the name of love. Maybe Meg was the one, and they'd just gone through a rough patch. It felt like they'd already invested too much emotion into the relationship, and Elsa wasn't accustomed to simply giving up.

When Meg asked, "Can't we just give it another chance?", she agreed.

So they were on again.

Only this time, Elsa wasn't running, wasn't pumping adrenaline.

When Meg teased her, she wilted.

When Meg reached out to tuck some hair behind her ear, she drew away, feeling like a play mannequin.

When Meg came home, she dreaded the inevitable confrontation almost as much as she relished in the verbal release of her unhappiness.

She shrank deeper and deeper into herself, stewing and gnawing and hurting. Eventually, as Meg ran out of patience and Elsa sank into a hailstorm of self-wrought misery, the entire system would collapse and Rapunzel would perform the minor miracle of putting them back together again.

By the time Meg finally admitted, "It doesn't feel like this is working," Elsa was just numb.

Breaking up with Meg, for real, was a relief. Rapunzel had tried to comfort her crying cousin, but in truth Elsa didn't need sympathy. The tears were clean and strangely uplifting. Some mysterious muscle came unclenched in her chest.

Then, she woke up the next morning, and Meg was still right there, sipping her coffee like nothing had happened.

For a long time, Elsa thought she was trapped in the world's worst nightmare. But now she suddenly realizes that the door has always been unlocked. She only has to get up and open it.

* * *

**Two-shot. The next chapter is half-written. I swear I will get back to Leave it Be as soon as I wrap this one up. Thanks for your patience. This was originally an idea that was to be included in Dream Girl, but that story already ended up so much longer than I had expected it to be and this basically felt like it could be its own story.**

***Sorry to anyone who read this earlier and wondered why they were reading the same thing twice. I must have copied and pasted twice into Doc Manager.**


	2. Chapter 2

"Thanks so much for helping out!" gushes Sandy, the director of…something. Elsa's not really sure what, only that she's running this charity running event and could possibly be the boss of Belle's boss's boss. Or something. It's easier to just think of her as Sandy.

"It's no problem," Elsa says, hauling a cooler filled with ice and water over to the refreshment stand.

"Elsa, didn't know you were serious about coming," Belle chirps unexpectedly from behind her.

"Uh, well, yes. I signed up, didn't I?"

"Should've known. You always liked your commitments."

Elsa shrugs. "I guess so."

In truth, she was never much of a "difference maker." She'd give a few dollars to the awareness fund or maybe leave old clothes with the Salvation Army, but she'd never really had any inclination to be "involved" before. But after telling Meg she needed space, it seemed like a good idea to create some, to immerse herself in something beyond the walls of their cramped living quarters.

Thus, she finds herself as a volunteer handing out water bottles to participants in a city-sponsored 4K 4 Cure race. On the whole the people are amiable and pleasant, if a smidge too enthusiastic for Elsa's taste. She can't quite crush the cynic in her or the image of streams of credulous money pouring into the pockets of pharmaceutical corporations. And the fact that there is no real "cancer cure." And the hopelessness of those afflicted by diseases not so broadly-advertised, doomed to suffer in the shadows of a sightless society.

Yeah, Elsa needs some sunlight.

Belle and the other volunteers are practically vibrating with pat-on-the-shoulder praise for the runners that cross the finish line, which Elsa has a hard time emulating. She offers a smile and a bottle of water for each of them though, and even if she isn't gushing, she really does admire their attempt at altruism.

One of the sweaty, crimson faces that appears before seems vaguely familiar.

"Hey, you're Elsa, right?"

Startled, she does a double-take. Red hair. Freckles. Blue Eyes. Goofy smile.

"Anna?"

"Yeah! You remember me?"

Before Elsa can slip up and confess, "Of course," Anna is chattering about how great it is to see her here, and does she need a hand with those bottles, and maybe they can grab dinner together after because her brother is busy and she's still trying to meet new people here in town.

"Sure," Elsa says, feeling completely overwhelmed. "Yeah, sure."

* * *

Meg likes Anna. That much is obvious. Elsa hears her on the phone, spinning out long excuses for why they should get together, but not for a date-date, and just to hang out. She remembers what it was like to be the target of Meg's affections: a marble statue of Venus step down from its pedestal, kneel, and kiss her fingers before a crowd of astonished tourists. Disconcertingly flattering. Surreal.

What can one do but surrender?

Anna comes to their apartment a lot. Elsa watches movies with them, because apparently Anna is reluctant come over if it's just her and Meg in case Meg gets the wrong idea. Meg wants to ease her into the idea of a more romantic relationship. Anna says she's glad they're friends. Elsa is relieved Rapunzel's there to shoulder the brunt of Meg's preoccupation with all things Anna: her mysterious childhood in Canada, an analysis of her taste in clothes, what her favorite breakfast food might be. Rapunzel simply rolls her eyes and listens patiently.

It's a little eerie watching her ex fall for someone else. Is that how Meg was when she started dating Elsa?

Nevertheless when Anna asks, "Aren't you going to watch the movie with us?", Elsa forgets how weird it is to sit with Meg on a couch in their living room. Or maybe she doesn't really forget, she just doesn't want to look like a downer in front of Anna.

So she says, "I'll be there," and sits on the far side of the sofa with Anna's thigh pressed up against her own.

Somewhere along the line, she and Meg start to relax around each other again. They actually still make decent friends. Maybe they don't have earthshattering heart-to-hearts, but it doesn't feel quite so raw anymore when Meg jokes about the organization of Elsa's bedside table. They have funny, memorable conversations about everything, most of which end in playful banter instead of detonation. They've even started to acknowledge the throbbing tumor of their failed relationship, to cut around it, and to cast it out.

So perhaps it's a little strange Elsa neglects to mention that she and Anna have breakfast alone on Saturdays at a café near Anna's apartment. And that Anna likes her eggs sunny side up.

* * *

Anna knows how to fix toasters and vacuum cleaners. She knows where nearest grocery store with millet grains is. She can fix computers— hell, she can build computers. She can talk about anything, literally anything, for hours at a time. Elsa sits and absorbs it all, the too bright smiles, the burbling words, the tears when she talks about how her mother just died from pancreatic cancer and she moved to the city to be closer to her brother.

The growing dampness against her shoulder, the desperation in the way Anna grasps her shirt makes Elsa feel stronger than she's felt in forever.

It's bizarre because Anna actually seems to think she's interesting and fun, like she thinks Elsa has a real personality. Elsa's so used to being "the quiet one" and "the serious one" and "the boring one," she can't help but smile back a little too broadly whenever Anna snorts uncontrollably at one of her sardonic comments. She finds herself doing silly things, spinning Anna's salad plate at restaurants, untying Anna's sneakers when they sit down next to each other on a bench, merely to get Anna to cock her head and ask, "What are you doing?"

Elsa wants to curl up against that lopsided smile.

* * *

"Did you want to go see that new movie?"

"What? What movie?"

"The one where they're all in space."

"Oh, that one. No, I wasn't really planning on seeing it. Why?"

"Do you want to go to it? This Saturday. With me."

"Great. Around seven?"

"Yeah… Elsa?

"Yes?"

"Did you just ask me out?"

"Um…"

"I mean. Oh god, I didn't mean to assume. You were just being all twitchy, and I wasn't sure why–"

"I think so."

"Oh. Good."

"…I was being twitchy?"

"In a good way!"

* * *

Aurora had slept quite contentedly leaning against Elsa's walls. Meg took a wrecking ball to them. Anna…Elsa can't quite figure out what Anna's tactics are. She sort of just…talks?

Like she patiently shouts greetings across the boundaries Elsa has drawn between them, and inexorably Elsa finds herself shouting back.

Or maybe she's like a hunter, luring the ferret out from its den. She makes herself so enticing that Elsa can't resist. But that doesn't feel quite right either, because everything Anna does is colored by an earnestness which refutes all trickery.

It could be Anna's a ghost who passes through the locked ironclad gates of Elsa's fortress as though it doesn't exist, because she lives on some metaphysical level where the gates are actually a construct for Elsa's self-doubt and really—

Yes. Elsa is definitely overthinking this problem. She can't help it. It's all so gradual and all so sudden. Like she's been wading out into a lake, only planning on cooling off her feet a little, but instead she finds herself neck-deep in the murky lagoon, drenched, treading water, and utterly in love and kissing—kissing Anna on her couch, which feels like the loveliest thing she's ever done.

That simile fell apart fast.

Chest heaving, Anna pulls away for a second and asks whether they should slow down.

Perhaps it's not Anna at all. Perhaps it's Elsa herself, cautiously prying open the doors a little, peering outside and beckoning Anna to come closer as she wordlessly surges forwards and joins their lips together again.

* * *

She saw this coming.

It was bound to happen eventually. But for some reason, Elsa figured she could put this appointment off for a few more weeks.

Well, it's been a few weeks more.

She meant to discuss it with Anna, but they were both so idiotically happy to see each other's faces, it seemed like a huge mistake to be her normal pessimistic, plan-ahead self. Just now it's become exceedingly clear what an exceedingly enormous mistake that was.

Jerking, Elsa resists the urge to rub her right cheek where a few seconds ago Anna planted a kiss before disappearing into the kitchen. She'll only draw more attention to herself if she does, and there's no point. Not when the real burn comes from the piercing of Meg's violet eyes through her temple.

Luckily, Anna bursts back through the door with a large, blazing birthday cake (did she really manage to fit 25 candles on that thing?) and every conversation in the room disintegrates into a boisterous, if somewhat discordant rendition of Happy Birthday.

Elsa sighs in relief to know that she's put off this conversation for at least a few hours more.

* * *

"I thought you weren't looking for anything," Meg demands as soon as Kristoff's car pulls out from the driveway and Anna returns to her kitchen table.

"What?" the girl asks, blindsided. Elsa definitely should have had this discussion earlier. At first, she thought there might be a chance that Meg wouldn't start this cage match until they'd gone back to their apartment, that she might spare Anna the inquisition on her birthday of all nights. No such luck. Meg was not one to take rejection lightly or quietly.

"You said you weren't looking for anything," Meg repeats bitterly. Her syllables stretch a few milliseconds too long, and Elsa realizes with a sinking dread that Meg is drunk. "But you've spent all night making googly-eyes at Frosty."

The venom in her voice scorches on its way out. Rapunzel coughs and begins to make distracting noises.

"I _wasn't_ looking for anything," Anna insists defensively. "Elsa and I just started seeing each other…a little." Beseechingly, she glances at Elsa. _Help me out here._ But Elsa is rigid and frozen. "I'm sorry if you're hurt—"

"I'm not hurt," Meg snaps in a way that confirms just how hurt she is. Her normally supple limbs twist in on themselves as she hunches her shoulders and glowers. "I hope you like being Frosty's rebound," she adds bitingly.

"Meg," Rapunzel admonishes, tossing Anna an apologetic glance.

"She's not my rebound," Elsa mutters. She meant to announce it boldly, heroically. Instead, no one hears her.

"I like Elsa," Anna states firmly. "I didn't mean to hurt—"

"I'm fine," Meg growls. Taking charge, Rapunzel grabs Meg by one lean bicep and drags her towards the door. She reaches up to cover Meg's mouth too, but the furious woman simply swats her hand away. "I just don't see why you'd go to all that trouble to convince me you weren't interested in dating anybody—"

"I wasn't interested in dating _you_," Anna explodes. "I'm sorry. I just didn't think we'd work out very well." Her directness flabbergasts the room. Rapunzel heaves the door open.

For a split second, Meg flinches. Maybe, almost flinches. But she swings back. "So you thought somehow it would be better with _Elsa_? How long do you think you'll last before Frosty freezes you out?"

"What?"

But then Elsa's cousin and ex are out the door, and it's just her and Anna left in the apartment, sinking in into the silence of a freshly departed mêlée.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Anna gives her a look that says she's being weirdly polite, but Elsa too feels stuffed up with discomfort to do anything about it.

"Are you alright? I wouldn't worry too much about Meg. I think she's just a little hurt is all."

"Yeah," Elsa mumbles, turning away and resting her hands on the kitchen counter. For seconds she leans there, breathing and staring at the laminate countertop. She notices an old stain. Tomato sauce probably.

"Elsa?" She ignores the concern in Anna's voice, ignores Anna's appearance at her side and her hand against her back. "You don't seem alright."

Elsa scrubs at the dried stain with a taut finger. "I'm fine. I'm fine." She grits her teeth, ready to deny it over and over again until Anna throws her hands up and stalks out. But Anna doesn't push. Anna leans her head into Elsa's shoulder, palms smoothing Elsa's trembling arms.

They stay there, two sticks in the mud, for what feels like years.

"We dated. Meg and I. For about a year. Maybe a little more. It was…rough towards the end."

"Oh," Anna say cryptically. "Oh."

Elsa doesn't know what to do with Anna's shocked, defeated voice.

* * *

"This had better not be some messed up revenge-plot-love-triangle-drama thing! Seriously, Elsa, could you not have dated anyone else?" Rapunzel whisper-explodes the moment Elsa cracks the door open.

Elsa blinks dumbly back at her. It's five in the morning. Unable to sleep all night, she'd left Anna drooling all over her red pillowcase with the sole intent of not having to interact with anyone for the rest of the day. She would sneak in, brush her teeth, grab her laptop, and sequester herself in the deepest corner of the nearest coffee shop. Have a peaceful day. Pretend there wasn't a hurricane brewing in the distance.

Really, what is there to talk about anyways?

She and Anna are dating. She and Meg are no longer dating. End of story. Period. Fin.

Not according to Rapunzel, who glares at her—or tries to despite the yawn which threatens to engulf her. "What were you thinking, Elsa?"

"I-just-" _I wanted to be happy. And I knew it would hurt Meg, but I didn't care. And it felt great to be chosen, for someone to like me better than her. God, that felt wonderful. Maybe I _wanted_ to hurt her. But can't you just let me have this?_ "It's none of your business," Elsa finally grits out. She can _feel_ herself folding in at the edges.

"God, Elsa, you're just so cold sometimes. It's like you don't care at all—"

"I don't. I don't care about Meg's feelings," the toxicity of her anger surprises even herself. Better to spit it out than keep it in any longer. "I hate her. I hate being near her. I hate living here. And you always take her side, like it's all my fault for not-not—I don't even know _what_ you want me to do, but whatever it is, clearly I'm not doing it right!"

"Can you not think about yourself for a few minutes?" Rapunzel hisses. "You get so wrapped up in your own suffering, you block out any chance to be happy, or for anyone else to be happy."

"I'm _trying_ to be happy, but apparently I can't even do that without screwing it up!" Elated to at last release the condensed frustration and helplessness in her chest, Elsa stalks forward, accentuating her slight height advantage.

Rapunzel refuses to back down, stretching onto her toes until her face pushes against Elsa's.

"Cut the crap, Els. Can't you at least be grateful—"

"I have nothing to be grateful for," she snarls. The voice in her head whispers, _Liar_, but Elsa brushes it aside.

She spends the rest of the day searching through apartment listings.

* * *

Anna pokes her eggs pensively with her fork.

"We're over," Elsa says in agitation.

Sighing heavily, Anna puts her fork down and stares out the window, as though the idea of meeting Elsa's eyes is unbearable. "You keep saying that, but—"

"Because you keep sighing like you don't believe me," Elsa interrupts. It feels like a ball of snakes is unraveling within the confines of her torso. Her knuckles whiten against her the glass.

"I know," Anna sighs _again_ and finally, finally looks over at Elsa for half a second. "I know you're not lying to me, but…maybe you just don't realize that you still have feelings for her."

Stunned, Elsa can't even fathom using English language to explain just how wrong Anna is.

"There's always this tension between you two, and I don't know, I figured you had a fight or something, or I thought maybe you like me and were a little jealous, but now…like I talked with Rapunzel about it, and it all makes sense."

"No," Elsa says numbly. "No. That's not what it's like at all."

"Then what is it like, Elsa?" The tone of Anna's voice borders on exasperated, accusatory. "Because I wake up, and you're gone. I try to get closer, but you're always holding something back."

"I just. I'm not that kind of person. And I don't have feelings for Meg. The tension's just us angry at each other. It doesn't _mean_ anything," Elsa babbles helplessly. "Anna…"

She can already see from the closed sorrow on Anna's face that it's hopeless.

* * *

Elsa is supposed to be packing.

It _looks_ like she's packing, sort of, with her clothes tossed all over the floor, except Elsa never has her clothes all over the floor. Even when she flew to Belgium that once, she laid everything out neatly on the bed, sorted into crisp piles based on sleeve length and thickness. Belle has a guest room she can escape to until she signs the lease on a new place. All Elsa has to do is collect her stuff and leave.

Instead she's spent the last two hours ripping things off hangers and throwing them to the floor. It fucking pisses her off because cloth doesn't make much of a noise as it settles to the ground. And that's when the books went flying off the desk.

It's all such a fucking mess.

"Elsa?! What the hell is this about you leaving? Why aren't you answering your phone? Are you even in here—Elsa!" Rapunzel shoves her way into the room, cursing as one of Elsa's blouses bunches up beneath the door. "Geez, what the hell happened…here?" Her voice trails off. "Elsa?"

From her spot curled up under the covers, Elsa gazes limply back at Rapunzel's stunned face. A detached part of her is ashamed to have lost control so thoroughly, for allowing herself to sink into such a self-indulgent tantrum, but mostly, she's too drained to feel anything.

"Nothing."

"Did you set off a bomb in here?" Rapunzel stumbles through the debris until she's by the edge of Elsa's bed, eyeing her listless cousin.

"It's fine." The covers are pulled into a tighter cocoon.

"Clearly. That's why you're going fetal at 5 in the afternoon." A weight sinks into the mattress. Elsa's fingers dig into the sheets beneath her to keep from slipping.

"Well, you should be delighted." God, Elsa doesn't even have the energy to sound bitter anymore.

A long sigh. "Yeah, watching you act all comatose is my favorite thing to do." Rapunzel shifts until her side rests against Elsa's back. She starts to pull away, but her cousin won't have it. A hand descends on her shoulder. "C'mon, Elsa. Just tell me what's wrong."

With a long shuddering breath, Elsa intones flatly, "You should go."

"Open up, Elsa," her cousin cajoles. "I'm here for you."

But Elsa isn't having any of it. Since when has Rapunzel been on her side? Since when has Elsa ever opened up?

* * *

It's nearly midnight when Elsa finally emerges from her room. She'd left her phone on the kitchen counter before she sequestered herself in her bedroom. 5 missed calls from Belle. 2 from Rapunzel. Enough texts to write a novel with. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she'll put herself together again, apologize to Belle and figure out what to do next. Maybe look at a few apartments downtown. The kitchen is dark and comforting. She perches herself in one of the barstools, elbows on the counter, head cradled in one palm, losing herself in the mindless task of refreshing her email.

Suddenly the phone buzzes in her fingers, startling Elsa. She nearly drops it. Then she looks at the screen and does drop it at the glow of Anna's name on the screen. She waits and watches for a full minute until the buzzing stops and the number of missed calls increases by one. Exhaling painfully, Elsa reaches down to pick up the phone from the floor.

The door swings open. Meg shuffles in with a disgruntled sigh, throwing her coat onto the couch and kicking off her heels.

"Elsa?"

Elsa grunts something that could be interpreted as either a greeting or a poor pig imitation.

"I was…out," Meg offers by way of conversation starter.

Unwaveringly uninterested, Elsa merely grunts again and slides off the stool. She gathers her dignity and prepares to advance backwards into the bedroom.

"I was at Anna's."

Elsa stiffens, wonders if that had anything to do with Anna's unexpected phone call. She wants to ask for more information, but she's too proud to ask or even pause for more than a split second.

Fingers dig into Elsa's upper arm. With an irate jerk, she yanks herself free.

"For God's sake, just stop. Just look at me for a second, Elsa."

She practically snarls back, "What for?" before turning away again.

"Look, I get it!" Meg breaks out. "We were terrible for each other. We basically were the crappiest couple in existence. I know I hurt you, without even meaning it most of the time. And trust me, being with you was pretty painful too."

"Thanks for the PSA," Elsa replies caustically. "Aren't you lucky to have Anna now? It must be so much less painful now." She has to swallow a sob after she says that, because, God, it's probably true.

"I'm not trying to start a fight. Jesus Christ, Elsa, why am I always the bad guy to you?"

Elsa doesn't really have a good answer for that question. On an intellectual level, she _knows_ why. Everything Meg says, everything Meg does is knotted into the disaster of their abortive relationship. When Meg smirks and calls her "Frosty", it's no longer the companionable teasing of an insistent friend, but an incessant jab in the ribs that she'd tried so hard to hold Meg's attention and failed. Each time Meg walks through the front door late at night, Elsa has to bite back the cutting, "Where have you been?" and remember that it's none of her business anymore. If Meg has too much fun at a gathering, all Elsa can think of is how it felt to sit on the sidelines and watch her girlfriend beam at pretty people with wide smiles.

But none of that sounds right to say out loud.

"Are you planning on avoiding eye contact with me for the rest of our lives?"

"No," Elsa snaps, the same way she used to respond to her mother's nagging attempts to get her to go out more often as a teenager.

"Then, look at me. It's like talking to a statue," Meg complains.

At that, Elsa flinches visibly and takes another step away. She needs space. She needs to get out of this goddamn apartment. Out of this city where everything hurts to look at, if at all possible. Away from Meg. Away from Rapunzel. Away from Anna.

"I'm sorry," Meg says. It's so _familiar_. Elsa can't really remember the last time Meg apologized for anything, not since the early days of friendship. When they were dating, apologies had been brushed aside with, "Don't worry, love means never having to say you're sorry," leaving Elsa frustrated with Meg's flippancy and guilty for her own grudges. "Sorry," Meg repeats, as though worried Elsa didn't hear her.

Maybe for the first time in over a year, she turns to meet Meg's gaze. Shockingly, person she sees there is slight and unremarkable. Certainly pretty, but far from the nearly mythical figure of Elsa's memories. She's neither vindictively beautiful nor shamelessly cruel. She's Meg, the girl Rapunzel's college roommate. The girl who could never be shot down or turned away. The girl who made Elsa blush until it almost hurt. The girl Elsa fell in love with once—she must have, or it wouldn't hurt so much now. Not a monster, not an ex, just an old friend.

And in the spirit of friendship, Elsa apologizes too.

* * *

"Call her," Meg instructs the next morning, between steady gulps of black coffee. "She likes you."

"Maybe," Elsa says. "It doesn't really matter. She needs someone who can tell her she's great and beautiful and loved every day. That's not really me. I wouldn't know how to be that person."

Rolling her eyes, Meg snorts, "Anna doesn't need a replacement mother. She's looking for a girlfriend—"

"A girlfriend who's actually warm and loving," Elsa interrupts. "Who can say the things she needs to hear."

"—a girlfriend who can say something and mean it," Meg corrects. "I could do that. You could do it too."

"Physically maybe. But I don't." Elsa's fingers retreat into her sleeves.

"We all know you're not warm and fuzzy, Elsa. You don't gush and praise and dote. But when you say something, you mean it. Everybody sees it. I say something, and everybody knows it's bullshit. But if you told Anna you liked her, loved her even, she couldn't not believe it."

"Hmm," Elsa hums noncommittally, trying to hide how pleased she is with Meg's little speech.

Another snort. "You're blushing, Fr—" Meg stops herself, looking apologetic.

"You can say it. I don't mind."

"Maybe."

Elsa opens her mouth to reassure her that it's really okay when her phone starts ringing.

It's Anna.

"Pick it up. Whatever happens, it can't be any worse than dating me, right?" Meg smiles wryly.

"You weren't so bad."

Maybe it's a bit of a lie. Maybe it's actually true. Either way it loosens the air between them.

"Pick up the phone already," Meg demands as she scoops her coffee mug up into her hands and rises. "Good luck," she says, leaving Elsa with the kitchen and her jingling phone.

Heart bobbling in her throat, Elsa answers it. "Anna?"

* * *

"Wait, so what do you do?"

"Right now, I'm a martial arts instructor at the rec center. Thinking about going on my own."

"That's great." Anna grins, nudging Elsa in the ribs with a not-so-subtle elbow.

With a long-suffering sigh, Elsa grabs Anna's pistoning arm and wraps it around her waist, ignoring the melodramatic pout drooping across her girlfriend's face.

"You two are really…cute together," the girl they're talking with remarks.

"I've been told," Elsa comments dryly. Her mask of gracious tolerance falls apart completely when Anna's fingers start jabbing at her side. Voice rising by an octave and a half, she squawks, "Anna!"

"Yes, dear?" Anna smirks.

Before Elsa can lose any more dignity, Belle rustles up to them in her extensive white gown.

"I see you two have met Kida. Thank you all so much for coming." Her face practically radiates joy and excitement.

"Where's the groom?" Kida asks.

"He just went—oh there he is." The women turn to see Adam waving wildly at his bride from across the room. "I'll be right back," Belle tells them distractedly before running off to meet him.

"She's not coming back," Kida observes with amusement.

Having recovered her sense of decorum, Elsa returns to the task at hand with great composure. "So, Kida, what's your personal policy on alcohol consumption?"

"Um, excuse me?" Kida blinks in confusion.

"Elsa!" Anna hisses. "You sound like government spy. Stop it or you'll scare her away."

"I guess I enjoy a few drinks now and then…" Kida interrupts sheepishly.

"Excellent!" Anna chirps. "Do you like music?"

"…yes?" Kida ventures.

"Fantastic. One of our friends is performing at Beat Street next Friday. You should totally come!"

Internally, Elsa cringes, certain that they've scared Kida off for good. Externally, she reaches an arm around Anna, in preparation for the inevitable "excuse me, I have to run away now." She hates seeing Anna disappointed, even if the redhead is so difficult to disappoint.

"Oh, really?" Kida perks up. "I know someone who goes there a lot. I heard it's pretty good."

Suddenly, they're both babbling away, and Anna's slipping in all this extra info about "their friend", and Elsa can only manage to nod encouragingly. By the time they part ways, Kida is completely sold on meeting them at Beat Street to see Meg perform. She and Anna exchange money.

"Well, that went well," Anna says cheerfully.

"We don't know if she's even gay," Elsa groans as she slides her phone out.

"Elsa. She was wearing a rainbow necklace. To a wedding. She's gay. And she's basically perfect for Meg."

"We barely know anything about her," Elsa insists, mostly for the sake of argument. She's already pulled up her text conversations.

"Quit being such a stinker. Hurry up and tell her already."

"So demanding."

"So _slow_," Anna gripes theatrically, head dangling over Elsa's shoulder. "You're lucky your serious face is so cute."

Elsa flushes. _You're performing at Beat Street next Friday,_ she finally types.

_…__why?_ comes the response.

_No reason, but I would dress nicely_.

Immediately, the reply flies in, _What did you two do?! You're at a fucking wedding. Don't you ever take a break!_

_Never._

_I hate you._

_You love me._

_Maybe, _is all Meg will admit.

"Give me that!" Anna says, snatching the phone from Elsa's hands.

_You'd better not love her more than me -Anna_

_Touché_.

"No one had better love you more than me," Elsa mock grumbles.

"Don't ever worry about that."

"I won't."

* * *

**The middle of this chapter was like pulling teeth, but I'm pleased with the ending. Thank god I'm done. I'll be working on Leave it Be again in my free time. Hopefully that gets wrapped up soon.**

**Anyways thanks for reading.**


End file.
